I am You, and You are Me
by TheFellowshipOfOreos
Summary: Sheriarty, one shot. Sherlock gets a text message from Moriarty asking to meet him at the nearby pool. You've got two brilliant geniuses in one building together; what could go wrong?


**Sheriarty one-shot. Been rolling this idea in my head for a few days, decided to make it published for other Sheriarty lovers to read. Enjoy and please review!**

**Disclaimer: Sherlock BBC and its characters do not belong to me. No money is being made from this, I own nothing but my imagination.**

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Sherlock flipped his phone over and over again in his hands, as if playing with it. But even to the untrained eye, it was clear the detective's mind was nowhere near.

He's been staring off into the distance for the past 30 minutes, flipping the cell phone, occasionally opening it as if he was waiting for an important call.

John sat in front of the detective, a cup of tea and a newspaper in his hands. He was oblivious to the entire thing, and thought that maybe Sherlock was bored and had nothing better to do with his time but stare off into the distance, motionless for the past half hour.

Sherlock had only shot the living room wall three times today; so it probably wasn't boredom. And anyways, they had an interesting case on their hands, so he had something to do if he wanted to.

Maybe Sherlock decided to be quiet, for once.

But underneath that creamy white skin and completely stoic body was nothing short of quiet. The detective was thinking (but thinking was such a small word for what was going on in his head at the moment). And whenever Sherlock thinks, things could either go well or go bad.

And things weren't going so well.

The two of them sat in silence for a long time, neither of them saying a thing. Sherlock too busy thinking, and John too busy sipping his tea and reading the newspaper.

_Ohhhh._

John almost chucked his cup of tea to the floor and he choked on his drink. Throwing his newspaper to the floor, he stared angrily at Sherlock.

"I thought I told you to get rid of that bloody ringtone!"

Sherlock's eyes seemed to glaze for a while before they snapped to attention. He looked over his shoulder at the ex army doctor and sighed.

"No."

"Sherlock, it's the 40th time this week. Answer your damn phone or I'll chuck it out the window. And why has that woman been texting you all week?! What is it that's so important?"

The detective flipped his phone open and his eyes dashed over the message. He seemed to hesitate for a while, before he quickly typed back an answer. When he finished, he looked up and smirked. "I've saved that ringtone for all my contacts, John. So it isn't Irene."

John raised an eyebrow. "_All_ your contacts?"

"Yes. Does it bother you?"

Sherlock almost laughed as he watched John turn a lovely shade of pink. "Of course it bothers me!"

"Why should it?"

"What if Mrs. Hudson hears it? It'll give her a heart attack on the spot!"

"Oh, it shouldn't bother her. My phone makes that exact same sound when she calls me. Even you, John."

"Please change it. At least for my contact. I call and text you all the time, what if somebody important hears it? Won't that embarrass you?"

Sherlock hummed, as if thinking it over. "Hmm. No."

"You've gone bonkers." John stood up and carried his cup to the kitchen.

The detective stood up and brushed himself down. He typed something again on his phone and then sighed. "I'm going out."

"Is that just a statement or are you expecting me to ask if I can come with?"

"No, this is something I'll take care off my myself. You can stay here and arrange a date with your girlfriend...Danielle? Or is it Elaine this week?"

John flushed. "You know very well her name's Ella."

"Ella, Elaine, same thing," Sherlock said as he moved towards his room. He emerged a few minutes later well dressed in his purple dress shirt and black trousers.

"_Oh~ho_, going somewhere fancy today?" John asked, raising his eyebrows at Sherlock's choice of attire.

"Maybe so." He grabbed his coat and threw his phone on the couch. "I'll be back in a few hours, I suppose."

John nodded and looked at Sherlock worriedly. He didn't want to feel worried for him, but he couldn't help it. "You seem a bit off today, Sherlock. Are you doing okay?"

The detective nodded and managed to give his flatmate a small smile, before he closed the door.

John stood still for a while before he heard Sherlock go down the stairs. He heard him get into a cab, he heard the cab drive away; and soon, he was alone in the flat.

He wondered where Sherlock was going. It's been a while since he went out without John in tow, and to be honest it was raising some questions. John started to worry. Was Sherlock on drugs again? Is that why he was acting so strange lately? Maybe the person he's supposed to meet was his drug dealer?

With shaky legs and sweaty hands he moved towards the couch and picked up Sherlock's cell phone, flicking the screen on. It was fortunately unlocked, and there was a read message open on the screen.

The contact name popped up, causing John to almost lose his breath.

**Jim Moriarty.**

* * *

Sherlock payed the cab and started walking towards the designated location. There was a cold wind blowing and he hugged his coat closer to his body, picking up his pace a little.

He was on the way to meet Moriarty.

Why? He didn't know.

The criminal had called him a few hours earlier and asked Sherlock to meet him at a nearby pool. Actually, it seemed more of a order than a question. Sherlock could have said no, he could have deleted the message and pretend to not have received it; but he didn't.

He wanted to go. He wanted to see Moriarty again.

He felt his cheeks and neck burn. Oh God, that sounded so weird. But it was true.

Sherlock was attracted to Moriarty.

The man was something else. Sherlock had never met someone so interesting, so cruel, so...intelligent. It made him think of himself sometimes.

And it was true that the detective preferred brains over looks. Someone with an intelligence similar to his own turned him on, to be honest.

He reached the location and opened the door, closing it swiftly behind him. The air inside the building was warm, so he took off his coat and put it on one of the chairs.

And he waited.

Maybe Moriarty wasn't here. Maybe he wasn't coming? Sherlock should have brought his phone instead of leaving it at home...but he decided that if something where to happen to him while he was here, his phone should be somewhere safe; considering the amount of information on it.

He was about to turn and leave before he heard a soft click, and looking up he saw Jim Moriarty in person walking towards him.

"Hello, darling. So nice of you to make it."

Sherlock gulped and stood still. His eyes raked over the criminal's body; taking in everything. He smelled Moriarty's expensive cologne from where he stood, he noticed how well the suit he wore hugged his body. He noticed his clean shaven face and piercing deep black eyes.

"Do take a picture Mr. Holmes, it'll last longer."

Sherlock felt his body flush and he turned away.

"Moriarty. You called. What do you want?" he asked.

The criminal stood in front of Sherlock, a mere two feet away. He feigned surprise at Sherlock's question, and his eye brows raised slightly.

"What do _I_ want, Mr. Holmes? Oh, I'm not the only one wanting something."

Sherlock looked at him.

"I know what you're thinking of, Sherlock."

The way he said Sherlock's name send shivers down the detective's spine.

"And I know what _you_ want as well."

Sherlock didn't even speak. He stood still on the ground, not moving an inch. He simply observed the man in front of him.

Moriarty on the other hand, started pacing back and forth. He started moving around Sherlock, slowly circling him, like a lion would do do its prey.

"Are you not going to say anything, Sherlock? Hmm? Cat got your tongue?"

Sherlock stiffened. "No."

"Ah, there we go! I knew that lovely voice of yours was in there somewhere."

"Tell me what you want, Moriarty, and let me go."

The criminal smirked for a while and shrugged. "Let you go? Why, you could just get up and leave if you wanted to, darling. No one's holding you back. No snipers, no hit-men; the door isn't even locked. Your little pet -John, isn't it- Isn't even here to hold you back. You could pick yourself up and leave right now." Moriarty laughed. "But you know what? You won't."

"I will," Sherlock reassured.

"No, you won't," the man laughed again. "I could make you wait another hour and you won't leave. Not until I say so, anyways. And you know why?"

Sherlock didn't answer.

"Because you want to stay here with me. You want _me_, Sherlock."

"...Whatever gave you that idea?" the detective managed to ask without stuttering.

"I know you, Sherlock. Just like you know me. We have the same minds, we think alike; I can figure out what's going on in that brilliant mind of yours in a second, as you could do to me."

"I'm not like you."

"Oh, but you are, dear." Moriarty moved closer to Sherlock, their faces inches away from each other. Sherlock felt the smaller man's warm breath hitting his face. "I know everything about you. I am you, and you are me."

Moriarty inched his face closer, his lips right below Sherlock's and he stood still. It took everything for Sherlock not to lean forward and capture those lips with his own; he wanted to touch him. He was desperate right now for any kind of contact with the man, and being so close to him wasn't helping out. The criminal's cologne was driving Sherlock wild and he wanted desperately to run his fingers down his hair.

"So what are you waiting for, Sherlock?"

And as Moriarty said that, in the blink of an eye, Sherlock had Moriarty pinned back to the wall, both of their lips clashing together. He felt an animalistic growl escape his throat as he felt the smaller man respond to the kiss; he felt him try to gain dominance.

The detective pinned Moriarty's hands to the wall. "You don't have all the power," he managed the say between harsh kisses. "It's my turn now."

The smaller man hummed and moved his hips upward without thinking, at the same time trying to gain dominance over Sherlock. It was like a game between the two of them; who could have more power over each other.

It continued like that for a while, until both their lips were pink and swollen from the kiss, and their clothes were disheveled from the groping.

They breathed together heavily, none of them saying anything. It was peacefully quiet.

"Dear me, Mr. Holmes. It appears you've got me charmed."

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Read and review please!


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